Remembered By One - Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The weather cooperated
nicely with Mason’s plans to skip unpacking the few boxes he’d retrieved from
storage and by noon, the sun had dried everything sufficiently for him to
photograph the old table. Not that he needed more photos for the memory box. He
grabbed the camera case and turned back toward the door, only to find Randy
Porterhouse lurking by the steps, staring at him.

Mason’s heart stuttered a
few surprised beats. “Jesus, Randy,” he sputtered. “You scared the daylights
out of me!”

“Sorry. You were
concentrating so hard, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Plausible, but for a
second there, it had seemed that Randy had just been…watching him. Stealthily.
Reminded him of his mother’s words on the subject. Randy was big. Not fat, just solid. Tall, and even more so in the work
boots he wore. His tattooed biceps bulged rather alarmingly around the sleeves
of his tight t-shirt. Mason suddenly understood how others found him
intimidating. Because he was. “What’s up?”

“Had to get out of the house.” Randy scowled
and cast a brief glance in the direction of his father’s place. “Old man’s in a
bitchy goddamn mood today and I kept imagining strangling him. My hands were
actually getting itchy wanting to do it. Even the one in the cast.” Randy
strode over to the table and, father instantly forgotten, broke into a grin,
his face lighting up enough to compete with the patch of sunlight he stood in.
The golden highlights in his messy hair, freshly washed and curling into ringlets
at the bottom, caught the sunshine and gleamed.

Huh. He’d never noticed
before, but Randy, minus the grease and not viewed against the ugly backdrop of
Target’s cheap merchandise, wasn’t bad looking. Not Mason’s type at all, he
didn’t typically go for the big burly ones, but Randy probably turned a few
heads—of both sexes. His clean jeans moulded tightly to the shape of his ass
and the material strained against the thickness of his thighs.

Did Randy have a
girlfriend? Kids somewhere? He’d never asked. Since he’d moved in with the
Dickhead, he’d let his old friendships slip and he felt a little ashamed of
that. Apparently his happy bubble of ignorance extended beyond childhood.

Mason considered it. It
was starting to look like maybe he was a little self-centered.

Oblivious to his inner
turmoil, Randy ducked past him, and flashed an even bigger grin. “I can’t
believe you still have this old thing!”

“My mom never throws
anything out.” The proof of that was up there in the attic. And the basement.
And Mason’s old bedroom. “Besides, it was buried in vegetation in the back under
the trees. I don’t think Nat even knew it was still around.”

“Hey!” Randy walked
around the table, apparently lost in a few memories of his own. “There’s my
name! Took me forever to carve that sucker. Your mom kept taking my jackknife
so I couldn’t cut all my fingers off. And there’s Brandon—both of them! And
those weird twins who moved away. God, I forgot about them.”

So, forgetting old
friends was not just Mason’s problem.

Randy’s grin settled, but
it hadn’t entirely left his eyes—eyes that had always seemed full of mischief
to Mason, and still did. Maybe it was the incongruence. When they were children,
Mason had always wondered how someone could be both blond and have such dark brown
eyes. Guess it happened. “Want me to email you copies of the pictures?” After
all, that table was almost as much a part of Randy’s life as his.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Blunt as ever. “Okay.”

“Send ‘em to my work email
though. The one at Red Hot Rides.”

Huh. Randy still had his
shop then. Nat had been right again. “If you still have your shop, what are you
doing working at Target?”

“Oh, well, I just love my
red polyester shirt that much.”

“Uh-huh.” Actually, Randy
looked really good in red.

“I don’t make enough fixing cars to buy the new
equipment I need, and if I don’t have the right equipment, I can’t take on more
business. You know how it goes.” Randy shrugged. “Getting a job just seemed
like the easiest way to solve that problem. I haven’t shut the shop down, but I
only take my regulars now.” He scowled at his cast. “Well I did, until that
fuckwit broke my arm. I got this kid helping me, but he’s…well, he’s just a
kid. I mean he’s good—gonna be good, but I just started training him when the
accident happened. Some sort of apprenticeship thing.”

Damn the luck. As far as
Mason knew, Randy specialized in fixing muscle cars and antiques roadsters, and
was, by reputation, very good at it. “You could probably sue for the lost
revenue.”

Randy snorted. “Yeah,
right. Like I’d ever win that. And if I did, it wouldn’t be enough to bother
with the hassle.”

“Maybe you should see a
lawyer. See what they say.”

Randy shook his head.
“Nah, not interested.”

Mason let it go. Not his
business.

“Anyway,” Randy
continued, “wanna go for lunch or something?”

Randy wanted to be seen
in public with him? Things must be really bad at home for him to be that
desperate. But what the hell. Mason was desperate too, and as annoying as Randy
had been, they had been friends as children, in fact right up until Mason had
left for college. But still—some of those names had hurt once upon a time. “You
sure want to be seen with me?”

“If anyone wants to say
anything, I’d be happy to take ‘em out back and discuss it. Like I used to.”

“You have a broken arm!”

“I only need one.”

Mason eyed Randy’s good
arm as he flexed it. Probably true. “That’s crazy! And what do you mean, like
you used to?”

Randy opened his mouth,
then shut it. “Never mind,” he huffed. “Do you wanna go get something to eat or
not?”

Watching Randy clam up
was a new experience. He’d always been a motor mouth. Blunt, for sure, and he
always had something to say. “Yes, I want to go for lunch. But I want to know
what you meant, because I know damn well you meant something.”

“Look Mase, it doesn’t
matter.”

Which meant, actually
that it did. “Yeah, it does matter.”

“I always hated it when
you got all stubborn, and still do. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And I think I liked you
better back when you never shut up.”

Randy rolled his eyes.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You wanna know, fine. It’s no big deal.” Randy took an
annoyed breath and let it out slowly. “Back in high school, I used to…you know,
stick up for you.”

“You what?”

“When those guys used to
call you fag and make plans to gang up on you in the change room and beat the
crap out of you for being gay. Shit like that.”

The bottom fell out of
what was left of Mason’s world. Jesus. Here all this time he’d thought people
were becoming more enlightened, when really it was just Randy getting lots of
detentions and suspensions for fighting. Yeah, Mason suffered through his share
of comments, slurs and shoves in the hallway, but nobody’d ever caught up with
him in the washrooms. He just lived in mortal fear they would. “Why would you
do that?”

Randy shrugged one
shoulder. “You were my neighbor.”

“That a pretty damn
shitty reason.”

“No it’s not. I spent so
much time here, it was like my second home. My real home. No way was I gonna let those fucking losers lay a hand
on you.” Randy grinned. “Or date your sister.”

“Fuck, Randy—you didn’t
have to do that for me.”

“Well, it wasn’t just for
you. I really like your mom.”

Okay. Got him there.
Everyone liked Nat.

“And your dad’s a grade-A
prick.”

“True.”

“So who else was gonna
stick up for you?”

None of this made any
sense. Mason’s head was spinning with the endless revelations of the past few
days. All his happy bubbles of ignorant bliss were popping one by one. “If
that’s true, they why all the name calling, huh? Queer-bait, fairy,
homo-erectus. All the other ones. If you were so concerned about saving me from
the homophobes, why call me names?”

“To toughen you up.”

“What?”

Randy sighed. “You’re
always so sensitive. Fuck, Mason, you still are. Not like I was always gonna be
around to save your ass. You had to learn to stand up for yourself.”

“I can stand up for
myself just fine, thank you very much!”

“You can now.” Randy
smirked. “See? It worked.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Besides, I haven’t
called you those things in years.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, yeah? When was the
last time, huh?”

Now that he had to come
up with an answer, he couldn’t recall. But it hadn’t been years, of that he was
damn sure. Or had it been? He gave Randy a sour look. “It’ll come to me.”

“Sure it will.” Randy
shook his head. “Look. I’m starving, so are you coming with me or not?”

“Yeah, I’m coming. Just
have to grab my wallet and lock up. Did you walk here? We can take my truck.”

“Yeah, I walked.” Randy patted
his stomach. “I’m getting a gut, sitting around so much waiting for my arm to
heal up.”

Mason eyed Randy’s
midsection. There might be a little extra padding there, hard to say. All that
muscle got in the way. “Meet me out front.”

Mason locked the back
door, grabbed his wallet, phone and keys, went through the side door to the
garage, but leaned heavily on the driver side door before getting in. If it
wasn’t for the fact his stomach was gnawing a hole in itself and there was
almost no food in the house, he wouldn’t go. His head was reeling.

How could he have been so
wrong? About everything? It was like his whole life had been one big lie.

Having lunch with Randy
was probably a bad idea. But the man couldn’t possibly have any more
revelations to dump on him. What would the odds be? As soon as he pulled out of
the garage, Randy hopped in the passenger side, and with more grace than Mason
would have expected from such a big guy. He even managed to get his seat belt
on one handed. Must have had a lot of practise after three breaks…

All those years of abuse
he suffered alone, and Mason never had a clue…

He’d always found Randy a
confusing mix of loud, rash, pushy, fun, rough-and-tumble and annoying. Now he
felt like a piece of shit for some of his past comments and about ninety-nine
percent of his thoughts. Because maybe, just maybe, he understood Randy better
now. God, how he must have craved attention that didn’t come at the end of a
fist…

Randy confessed to having
a craving for fries, and had a favorite place in mind. Mason drove them there,
mostly in silence. It wasn’t the kind of place Richard would have been caught
dead in. Burgers and diners weren’t posh enough for him, although they suited
Mason just fine. The Dickhead had always been a bit of snob. Actually, he was a
lot like Mason’s father that way.

Cheated like him too.

Fuck.

Another revelation.

Muttering to himself,
Mason locked the doors with his key fob. How had he been so goddamned blind?
Every man he’d ever been in any kind of relationship with was one shade of
Stephen Novak or another. Faithless. In heart if not in body. Always looking
for the next best thing—and that thing was never Mason Novak. “I need my
fucking head examined,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Randy
asked.

“Nothing. Just giving
myself some good advice I won’t take.”

As they looked at each
other across the hood of the truck, something else Randy said popped into his
head. Mason shrugged with unease. Might as well get this over with as well, so
it couldn’t be a revelation to jump out and bite him later, or be a niggle in
the back of his mind where there was so much clutter already, including the
ghosts of long forgotten smiling blond kids. “So Randy…”

“What?”

“You said something
earlier. About Ginny.”

“I did?” He looked
confused.

“You said you wouldn’t
let any of those losers date her.”

“So?”

Same old Randy. “Was that
because you liked her yourself?”

Randy chuckled and headed
toward the diner doors. Smiling, he glanced over his shoulder at Mason. There
was a wicked gleam in his eye. Mason wasn’t sure he trusted that smile, or that
sparkle in his eye, not one bit. It had always spelled trouble. “Well, I like
your sister, that’s true, and I love
her warped sense of humor. It’s almost as good as yours used to be. Too bad you
lost it.”

Randy’s expression
changed suddenly and the smile vanished. He looked Mason directly in the eye
and how very disconcerting that was. After a few seconds of what could have
been nervous indecision, he said, “But not nearly as pretty as you.”

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About Me

I'm a writer of erotic paranormal romance (GLBT), a mother of two and servant to a dog and a pair of demanding cats. I'd love to stay home all day and either write novels or read them, but alas, the Evil Day Job keeps me busy (and with a roof over my head). Since I'm scared to touch my website (and my web manager thanks me) I've created this blog to provide updates on my Works In Progress.